


why storms are named after people

by drmsqnc



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Open Ending, Telepathic Bond, i mean it depends how you headcanon regeneration, the doctor ft the oncoming storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 15:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drmsqnc/pseuds/drmsqnc
Summary: there’s golden dust in his teeth, in his breath. he gasps and laughs and spits up jewels onto the floor.





	why storms are named after people

the doctor is dying. 

it’s a strange realization to come to. you feel disconnected, trapped in the space between the film reel--that aching void where Nothing lives. 

Nothing crawls up underneath your nails. Nothing is the honey behind your lungs. Nothing bloats in your chest, swells tight against your bones until the pressure builds and  _strains_  and threatens to burst. 

(because failure cannot be measured. because it is not a variable to be tested on a field; it is not an algorithm one can trap on a graph.

because sometimes, no matter how hard you try you can still lose.)

the doctor is dying. 

“useless.”

there’s golden dust in his teeth, in his breath. he gasps and laughs and spits up jewels onto the floor. 

you stare. all you can see is his blood--a slick trail from the door of the tardis to the control. it’s on the wall, on your hands, drying between your fingers. (the doctor is dying.) the vcr catches, rebounds on itself and plays the same glitch over and over and over and over and over and over and over and--somewhere, vaguely, you know you’re having a panic attack. 

“d-doc--”

your jaw slams shut. no, no, no you can’t call him that; it’s a title, an epithet. this is serious and you can’t, can’t,  _won’t_  be impersonal because yo--

\--you don’t even know his name.

you drop to your knees. 

everything hits at once. you are in space, light years,  _galaxies_  away from home with a man you’ve known for less than a year. you’d won so many battles together that you’d forgotten that fate doesn’t take favourites, forgotten that you’re just as fallible, just as human as you were on earth’s soil, and you can’t breathe because you just watched an entire planet  _die_  with billions of screams because the two of you  _failed,_ and  _you don’t even know his name--_

“it always ends here,” the doctor is muttering to himself, seemingly none the wiser to the neon light starting to glow under his skin. his words have always sounded strange, but now they are alien--impossibly perfect yet stumbling thick on his tongue--as though his mouth was made for another language entirely. “useless.”

“you are  _not_ useless,” you croak, the sound wet. hot tears spill onto your cheeks. “t-there wasn’t anything else we could h--” 

he whirls on you, perspiration dotting moisture between his eyes. somehow it only makes him shine brighter. 

“oh  _please_ do.” 

and just like that you are worthless. you are pathetically insignificant underneath his gaze: a random blip in the cosmos, insurmountably small in front of the sun. he looms over you, brimming with the energy of life itself, a millennium raging in his ageless eyes.

“please tell me,” the oncoming storm seethes. “what you could  _possibly_  offer me.”

you know that this isn’t him anymore. not really. you know that something  _broke_ inside him when the tardis materialized around the two of you and forced you away from the doomed planet.  _not again,_ he’d begged.  _they’re all burning. i did this oh not again._ you know that he isn’t truly even  _here_ anymore. he’s long gone from this plane of reality, triggered by the catastrophe and trapped in the past. you  _know_  this.

it still doesn’t make his words hurt any less.

the doctor spasms in a mini surge of blinding colour, mouth opening in a silent scream. you grit your teeth and close the distance in a breath, grabbing his hands. he  _writhes_. you hiss, forcing his palms to cover your ears before lurching forward and crushing your forehead to his.  

 _listen._  you shut your eyes and  _shove_  the thought outwards as harshly as you can.  _ **listen.**_

he stills, his nails digging into your skin.

you try not to tremble. you try not to imagine your head breaking open like a melon on-top your shoulders. you try not to think about the fact that you are completely giving over yourself--your mind, your  _everything--_ to him while he is still in this state.

the doctor twitches. a long moment passes with bated breath before slowly, you begin to feel him.

his presence invades your brain--a sugary warmth spreading. all of what you are rushes before your eyes. your fear of him. your worry. your loyalty and your unending trust and your overwhelming  _sorrow_. terrorism, they’d called it. the perpetrator had pleaded with the doctor to see their view before committing the act. how was any of it  _terrorism?_

you’d believed that the doctor could fix anything, no matter where he went. it turned out that some darkness just could not be healed. you just wish it hadn’t taken him being shot right in front of you for you to finally see the truth. 

the doctor’s pulse flutters wildly at his wrists, at your temples--a dissonance of three heartbeats. his grip has loosened, and his trembling now outweighs yours. you squeeze his hands softly.

_it wasn’t your fault. you are a good man._

he crumbles.

he physically deflates, folding in on himself, on you. anguish floods into you over the connection. 

“oh but what’s in a name?” he murmurs. you can feel the wetness on his cheeks. “a rose by any other would smell as sweet.”

your confusion lasts less than a millisecond. the doctor inhales slowly, then ever so softly whispers his name into your mind. you shudder. it’s less a word than it is  _music_. your tears positively overflow. it’s gallifreyan, and you will physically never be able to replicate such an otherworldly sound on your tongue, but you’ll never forget it. ever. 

“i’m sorry,” the doctor breathes. there’s a wobble in his voice and kindness in his touch and you nearly sob in relief because  _he’s back._ he’s yours and  _he’s back_.

“i know,” you smile. “shakespeare is it?”

“i’ll have you know i met shakespeare,” he presses a tilted grin of a kiss to your forehead. “a rose too.”

your smile widens. you pull away gently, retreating further just as the regeneration energy hits its crescendo.

the doctor explodes and becomes a new stranger. you look out the tardis at the ever expanding universe and wonder where Nothing ends and Something begins.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr plz & thanks id appreciate it


End file.
